The She-Wolf
by CoutureWriting
Summary: "I love you Lyanna Stark," he whispered, and she knew it to be true.
1. Harrenhal

_I love Lyanna as a character and want to do her love story with Rhaegar justice (as I do think it is a love story, seeing as Robert is the only one to think she was abducted). So I really got into this, and want to continue. Let me know if you think it's any good. Disclaimer blah blah all characters to their respective owner (George RR Martin, amen). Etc. etc. You know it all. _

* * *

"There it is," Ned called back to her. "Harrenhal."

And so it was. As Lyanna rode, she gazed up at the enormous castle, the largest in the Seven Kingdoms, and her eyes widened. Old Nan had told her there was human blood in the black walls that had been melted away by dragonfire so long ago. It was a frightening place indeed.

"It's bigger than I imagined," she said, kicking her horse to catch up to her older brother.

"It covers three times as much ground as Winterfell," Ned told her. "Better built for giants than for men. I don't care for it."

Lyanna didn't either, but she said nothing. A place with such a dark history could bear no good will.

"Robert will be there already," he added.

Lyanna turned her face away and grimaced. She cared little for her brother's best friend, who thought himself so in love with her. Betrothed or not, she did not love the dark, handsome lord and doubted she ever would. Rumours had already reached her of bastards he had fathered, and Ned had dismissed her concerns when she had voiced them to him.

Benjen laughed behind them and Lyanna was tempted to knock him from his horse. It wasn't fair. Though at least their father was being as equally horrid to Brandon, talking of betrothing him to the older Tully girl.

Lyanna kicked her mare and galloped ahead of their party, and heard her father and Ned call after her, the former demanding she arrive at Harrenhal in the carriage as a proper lady.

She reached the gates. "Lyanna Stark of Winterfell," she announced herself.

They stared at her curiously but the gates were opened nonetheless. She rubbed the horse's white neck as she leapt off, landing gracefully on her feet. She took her by the reins and lead her forward into the square.

Harrenhal was alive with music and dancing, and Lyanna regretted judging it so harshly. The ugly backdrop of the castle remained but the atmosphere was a happy one. She received a bow from a singer with a harp who immediately began to sing of her Northern beauty, comparing her to a winter rose. She laughed.

And then there were women with babes at the breast, looking fat and lively as they talked among themselves. Dogs fought over meat and men courted lovely women, whispering promises of love and beauty into their ears.

Lyanna imagined her face wondering. Winterfell was beautiful and it was home, but it was never like _this._

And then there was Ned beside her again. He dismounted and gave her a stern look. "It is not right for a lady to ride in on her own. You should have been in the carriage with the ladies."

Lyanna only laughed. "You shouldn't be so serious, Ned," she scolded him. She smiled now. "I think I quite like Harrenhal, after all."

He sighed. "I thought you might."

"_Ned!_" somebody boomed, and they both glanced to where Robert Baratheon strode towards them. His hair was dark and he was black-bearded, and tall, broad and muscular, his eyes like gems.

They embraced like brothers as Lyanna watched, slapping each other on the back. Robert took Ned by the shoulders and laughed genially.

Suddenly he had turned to Lyanna and bowed his head respectfully. "My lovely lady," he said, taking her hand and kissing it gently. Lyanna smiled to hide her distaste.

"Every hour I am not with you seems as long as a year," he told her. His eyes never left her face, whether it was love or lust in them, Lyanna couldn't tell. She looked away.

"Then you have aged very well, my Lord," she quipped.

Robert roared with laughter and Lyanna was relieved, though she noticed Ned looking warningly at her.

"She's a witty one," Robert conceded. "Beautiful and graceful and clever."

Lyanna curtsied. "You flatter me," she said quietly.

"No more than you deserve," said Robert, before turning his attention back to Ned.

Benjen had come upon them and poked her in the ribs, his face full of mocking laughter. He ducked away and Lyanna chased after him, leaving Robert, her brothers and her father staring in her wake.

* * *

"There you are," the Septa told her, pulling her wild hair away from her face and fastening it down her back. "Was that so terrible?"

Lyanna peered at herself in the mirror and frowned.

"I look exactly the same as I did before," she complained. "Honestly, you women and all of your tricks, all lies." She laughed then.

"You look beautiful, my Lady," the Septa insisted.

Lyanna ignored the compliment. These Septas were a strange breed. They had none in the North. Women served the Old Gods there, not the Strange Seven, as she was so fond of calling them.

"You must remember to thank your father for your gown," she reminded Lyanna patiently.

Lyanna glanced down at the pale blue silk gown, more in the style of King's Landing than Winterfell. It was a pretty thing that shimmered by candlelight and swept gently from her neck to her waist where it was nipped in with silver, and gathered to fall down to the floor.

She only laughed. Her father had given her the gown only for the benefit of Robert Baratheon. None of her dresses in Winterfell were as fine as this one, and that was how she preferred it. She wore men's breeches when she was allowed and carried a sword when her father was absent. If only she had been born a man. Then they could have been the four Stark brothers, not the three and their silly sister.

"Off with you now, my Lady," the Septa told her. "I must see Lady Ashara before the feast begins."

Lyanna held her skirts as she made her way down the great black corridors towards the Great Hall where the feast was to be held. As she reached the doors the squire bowed to her and turned to the attendees to announce her.

"Lyanna of House Stark, Lady of Winterfell, daughter of Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

There was a moment of silence as nearly everybody turned to her. She noted that her father looked relieved to see her dressed in a gown instead of her brothers' clothes, and Brandon's face was full of pride at the sight of her.

"My Lady."

She glanced down to see that Robert had made his way over to her and offered her his hand. She took it and stepped down to join him.

"You look beautiful," he told her and she smiled and thanked him.

He led her over to where her family sat with Howland Reed, the man she had rescued from the three squires attacking him only hours before. She was glad to see that her brothers had found him clothes and a place to sit with them. He smiled widely at her and she returned it wholeheartedly.

"Strange to see you looking like a girl for once," laughed Benjen, but it was Ned who elbowed their brother in the ribs before Lyanna could, though she understood that it was only for the benefit of Robert.

"Aerys of the House Targaryen, the Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and the Protector of the Realm," it was announced. "His son Prince Rhaegar of the House Targaryen and his wife, Princess Elia."

There was an outbreak of polite cheering and applause as they entered. Lyanna took a sip of her wine and then glanced up to see the Royal family for the first time in her life.

Her first reaction was fear. She had never seen a man like Aerys in her life. She remembered her brother had told her the King had only just celebrated his thirty-eighth nameday, yet he looked closer to eighty. His fingernails were long and uncut and his hair was a wild tangle. But his eyes were cold and cruelly unfeeling as he surveyed the Hall.

The family was led to the raised dais where the Whent family usually sat. Lyanna's eyes followed the King as he walked and finally she looked away and saw Ned watching her closely. She managed a half-hearted smile in his direction.

And so with the arrival of the Targaryens, the feast began. Lyanna ate and drank wine with her brothers, laughing at Benjen's jokes and Ned's seriousness. Her father scolded her more than once for being unladylike. Brandon told stories of his travels, and other tourneys he'd competed in and what the coming ten days would be like. It all sounded very exciting to Lyanna, no matter what Ned said.

After an hour or two, Lyanna stole another glance at the Royal family. She glanced at Aerys, looking as frightening as ever as he ignored the food and drink before him suspiciously and said little to anyone. Her attention turned to Rhaegar, his son, who she found, to her surprise, to be staring at her.

She was so shocked she dropped her goblet onto the floor where it resounded with a clang. But she could not tear her eyes away from the Prince. He was handsome to be sure, with messy silver-blonde Targaryen hair, but it was his eyes that had caught her. There was sadness in them that she saw in her own eyes, that she knew was from being trapped. He couldn't have been any older than two-and-twenty, broad-shouldered and strong but she could see gentleness in him, too.

She looked away hurriedly, but could feel his eyes on her as she began to talk to Brandon.

Suddenly the Hall fell silent, and they all turned to see Rhaegar Targaryen with his harp, moving to the centre of the dais.

Lyanna could have heard a pin drop as they all waited expectantly.

He began to play, softly at first, and then sang. Lyanna did not notice as she turned her whole person towards him, caught at attention. He sang, his voice deep and lovely, of a love that he had lost.

The harp he played was haunting and resounded about the hall. His voice broke with sorrow along the greatest lines of the song. He sung of the lady's beauty and her marriage to another man, and finally of her throwing herself into the ocean.

Lyanna found she had tears in her eyes as his song came to an end. The hall remained silent long after he had finished and returned to his seat.

Lyanna turned to face her family, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Look, Lyanna is crying!" Benjen laughed. "You look like a newborn babe!"

Lyanna glanced at him coldly before she seized his goblet of red wine and poured it over his head.

Brandon and Robert roared with laughter as Benjen sat in shock and then finally got up to go and clean himself up.

"That wasn't necessary, my dear," her father told her with a frown.

Lyanna held the goblet out as one of the servants refilled it. Rhaegar's song played on in her ears as she sipped. She looked up, hoping to steal a glance at him, only to find him watching her still. She smiled at him, hoping to convey that she understood him, his sadness and his song. He smiled back momentarily, but long enough for Lyanna to be sure she'd remember it forever.

* * *

Robert Baratheon claimed the first dance of the evening from her, Brandon the next, and Ned after him. Their father forced even Benjen, though he did complain, to take her hand for a dance.

As she danced with Ben, she noticed that Brandon had somehow made Ned ask Lady Ashara Dayne for a dance. Lyanna mused as she watched him, if their father allowed it, that Ashara would prove an excellent goodsister. Ned had spoken of her wit and beauty before, but now Lyanna had her own proof.

Ben appeared relieved when he was finally able to release her and scramble back to their table. She'd have to give him a whack across the backs of his legs for that next time they sparred.

"My Lady, may I have this dance?"

Lyanna turned to see that Rhaegar Targaryen stood before her, offering one hand to her. Her heart beat hard against her ribs as she tried to remember the courtesies she had learned.

"Of course, ser," she bowed her head to him and accepted his hand.

He drew her onto the dancefloor as he might a cut of silk, and as they danced, she felt as though she were only an accessory to him. He moved with so much grace and beauty she felt as though she were only there to complement him.

"You must be Lady Lyanna Stark," he said as they danced.

"The very same," she told him solemnly. "You are a very gifted musician, ser. I have not heard your match before."

He smiled at that, at her. "What am I to make of you, my Lady? I have heard one man say you are as gifted a fighter as any man here and another say that you were half horse by the way you ride. Yet another told me you can turn into a wolf at will."

Lyanna smiled in a comely manner.

"And yet here you are, and I heard nothing of your beauty," Rhaegar continued. "It seems to me that either every man I've met who has spoken of you has been blind or each keeps you a jealously guarded secret."

She laughed at that. She had never been further south than the Twins before. How was Rhaegar to know anything of her, or she of him?

"I'm afraid I don't know," she answered finally. "I have nobody to compare my swordplay and riding to but my brothers."

Rhaegar smiled. "Perhaps we will spar during this tourney."

"I do not think my father would allow it," said Lyanna sourly. "He's always so concerned of what I say and do when we are in company. At Winterfell, he hardly cares."

He laughed. "I should like to see you when he is not orchestrating your every move," he said. "Perhaps the Lady of Winterfell wears a wolfskin and fights the Others at home?"

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. "Perhaps she does."

"I understand you are to be the Lady of Storm's End before too long," Rhaegar continued.

Lyanna's face must have embittered noticeably because Rhaegar laughed again. "I apologise, my Lady, I mean no offence."

"It is not you that offends me," she spat. "It is the notion of marrying."

"Marriage or your fiancé?"

Lyanna looked up to him suddenly. "You grow too familiar, ser. You must excuse me."

She released him and thought for a moment that he might come after her, but he didn't. She returned to her father and Benjen and sat down and watched Rhaegar return to his table and sit beside his wife.

* * *

_So there we go! First chapter done and dusted. Hopefully you liked it and wanted more! I hope I've done Rhaegar and Lyanna justice, or whatever. Reviews are always appreciated and might convince me to keep writing as I'm not sold on this at the moment! Lots of love. x_


	2. The Knight of the Laughing Tree

_Here we are, chapter two! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter... If you have any suggestions, let me know. _

* * *

The first day of jousting was endlessly exciting to Lyanna. She watched her brother Brandon unseat half a dozen knights and Rhaegar twice as many. Ladies cheered and wept and threw favours at Rhaegar as he rode back and forth before them. Lyanna stole several glances at his wife, and saw she sat straight-backed and motionless as she watched, her face, kind though it was, betraying no hint of disdain for the ladies who shamelessly championed her husband.

She left midway through with excuses to Ned and Ben with whom she sat. Her father was with Brandon somewhere, probably trying to give her eldest brother advice.

And so Lyanna snuck away to the Stark tents where she found Howland Reed, nervous with excitement. _He has done it_, she thought. _Bless him!_

She glanced at the mismatched armor in his arms and laughed. She would look a sorry sight indeed. She glanced at the ghastly Weirwood tree its laughing face grotesque. She grinned at Howland.

He helped her into it carefully, blushing every now and then as his hand grazed Lyanna. Finally she was dressed. She pulled the helm over her head and turned.

"Are you sure you should do this, my Lady?" Howland asked finally. "What if you are unseated… discovered?"

She grinned beneath the helm. "Then I must be good." Then she lifted it and kissed him softly on the cheek.

She made her way to the joust, earning several strange looks from other knights. She took an unattended horse and led it to the festivities.

And as they announced her as a mystery knight against some member of House Frey, she rubbed the horse's neck to calm it, and without assistance, mounted the beast. She was handed a lance.

Her mount trotted forward and she spied her opponent in silver armor. He was attended by several squires, perhaps more of the extended Frey family, before finally, he was ready.

Lyanna gripped the lance and tried to remember all Ned had whispered in her ear of jousting. The position of the Frey in comparison to her, the angle of her lance, her grip, the steadiness of her mount.

And then it all happened; as she saw the Frey kick his horse forward, she urged the beast into a gallop and held her lance steady ahead of her. Her breath was hot against her face in the helm as she rode, every stretch of the horse's legs taking an age. She better adjusted the lance, so as she crossed the Frey, it caught him just under the armpit and knocked him from his horse.

She slowed the horse to a trot and glanced back to see the Frey throw his helm in the dirt in anger.

Lyanna turned to the ladies and bowed low to their cheers. Several of them threw roses in her direction and she caught one and held it above her head victoriously.

And so it went on that Lyanna unseated each master of the three squires who had shamed Howland Reed that day. In answer for their pleas for the ransom of their belongings, she asked of them only to teach their squires honour and was gone.

She urged the horse away from Harrenhal with all the haste she could muster, away from the joust and away from Robert Baratheon, who had demanded she be unmasked. She nearly grinned to imagine what her fiancé would think if he _had _removed the helm and found his sweet Lady Lyanna beneath, grinning from ear to ear at her victories.

Then she frowned. Ned would know by now. He would have guessed the moment she demanded the three men chastise their squires. He wouldn't be happy, she knew. Ben would probably be in awe of her. She doubted Brandon would have even noticed her absence. She only prayed her father hadn't discovered her.

As she rode, she allowed herself to laugh, loud and unladylike, as she was never permitted. Tears of happiness streamed down her cheeks and she could scarcely keep steady hold of the horse she rode.

It was then that she noticed that she had been followed. She shifted in the saddle to stare behind her and she caught sight of the unmistakable black armor and silvery mop of hair that was Rhaegar Targaryen.

Caught, Lyanna did not know what to do. She was the better rider, to be sure, but she did not want to be chased from Harrenhal. There were rapers and thieves in the forests, and one against ten, she would fall. So she halted the horse and turned.

"You there, knight!" the prince called, his voice sharp. "You have it under the command of King Aerys to unmask yourself."

Lyanna calmed her horse as it whickered nervously.

"I am the Knight of the Laughing Tree," she called back, attempting to inject some authority in her voice.

"I am gentler than my father," Rhaegar told her. "Do not make me drag you back to Harrenhal to have him unmask you himself."

Lyanna relented. She leapt from the horse and stood before the prince.

"Are you sue you wish to know?" she asked him. "It may surprise you."

"I'm sure I can contain my shock," he said confidently. "My father thinks you an enemy of the crown. Prove him wrong."

Lyanna smiled despite herself as she reached up and pulled the helm from her head. Her dark hair cascaded from beneath and fell about her shoulders. She stared up at Rhaegar defiantly.

It pleased her to see the shock transform his face. He had never imagined it to be her beneath the knight's helm, yet here she was, red-faced and lovely as ever. He slid from his mount.

"Lady Stark," he whispered in disbelief.

She bowed clumsily to him. "Lyanna, if it please you ser."

"But how?" he demanded. He was still shocked. "Those men… you could have been killed."

She laughed. "It takes more than a whelp of House Frey to unseat a Stark."

"I am in awe," he confessed.

She grinned at him.

"Yet it appears it only takes a Stark to unseat a Targaryen," she said boldly.

He looked as though he might kiss her for a moment, and she wondered what that would be like. She had never been kissed before. She imagined it would be Robert after too much wine, clumsy and unpleasant, or perhaps on their wedding day, chaste and cold. Part of her wished the silver prince would do it, just to feel _something_, but Rhaegar seemed to think better of himself, perhaps remembering his wife, and the moment scattered to the wind. He laughed instead.

"Consider me unseated," he agreed.

"So are you going to throw me down before the king?" she asked, clutching the helm in her hands tightly. Rhaegar made her nervous and that in turn excited her.

He chuckled. "I will tell him I lost you," he said dismissively. "Men go missing all the time. If I remember correctly it was your fiancé who seemed so intent on unmasking you."

"Imagine the shock," Lyanna grinned. "It might have sent him to an early grave, and then who would I marry? Father would be so disappointed."

"Do you really hate him so?" asked Rhaegar.

She studied him for a moment. "Not hate, no. I think I resent him. He represents everything I lose. My brothers, my home, my freedom … and the rest. I see nothing to gain from this. I think my brothers know that unhappiness is all that waits for me, but they couldn't say. Ned, least of all. Robert is his best friend."

"Best friend or no, I would not have any sister of mine traded," Rhaegar said firmly. "Targaryen men married their sisters, because they were so precious. Too precious to lose to a foreign house, where allegiances are traded as oft as silver."

Lyanna smiled and shook her head. "I would not like to marry my brothers, either. Brandon is too proud, Ned too serious and Ben too … vexing. Perhaps I wish to die in Winterfell as the unmarried, batty aunt to their swarms of little lords and ladies."

Rhaegar laughed despite himself. "That would not suit you either, my Lady. I have observed wild creatures lose their beauty when they are broken. It would be a shame to see you broken, by Robert most of all."

"The stag does not break the wolf," she assured him. "I would sooner die."

Silence fell between them, and Rhaegar gazed at her with such intensity, she shifted beneath his stare.

"Your wife is very lovely," she said finally.

He looked taken aback. "Elia? She is my greatest friend."

"_Friend_," Lyanna repeated. "Not wife?"

"She is my friend, my sister, my counsel, the strings beneath my fingers, the mother of my children and I love her dearly, but she is not my wife, no. Not in the true sense of the word. It is not all as the bards would have you believe, sweet Lyanna. Men and women do not marry for love, they marry for duty and family and to prevent the deaths of thousands."

"If only I were a farmer's daughter, or a tavern wench," said Lyanna miserably. "Or perhaps some celebrated pleasure slave in Lys."

"And where did you learn of such things?" he asked with a laugh. "You have questionable aspirations, my Lady. Most women aspire to climb socially, not sink. You wish to be a farmer's daughter? What would you do when your father wed you to the farm hand? Or your tavern wench of a mother let men take their pleasure with you for a few coppers? Or when you grew too old to be of any pleasure to anyone and the Lysene forgot you and your beauty?"

"What any woman would do," said Lyanna. "Find the man responsible and have my vengeance."

"Not many women would do that," he told her. "One in a thousand, perhaps more."

"You are very severe on my sex," she said, annoyed.

"And you have too much faith in the hearts of women," he quipped. "Did you know I was to marry Cersei Lannister? I met her when she was ten years old, you could see her loveliness then, but she watched me with such a hunger… she looked like a girl who knew too much. Ladies that young would look on a man and think of the great ballads, but Cersei thought something very different… My father refused Tywin and married me to Elia instead. Cersei is another one in a thousand, but very different to you."

Lyanna frowned. She had heard of the beauty of the young lioness, but she hadn't known that Tywin had proposed the prince marry her.

"If I were Cersei I would have chased you until you married me, no matter what your father said," Lyanna said stubbornly. "If you didn't love me, I would have made you. And I would have hidden from the world with you, somewhere south perhaps, or maybe to the east. I've always wanted to visit Pentos and Myr and Braavos."

"Would you do it if you were Lyanna Stark?"

She smiled despite herself, but her expression quickly darkened. She imagined Ned's face among the rest. _You would dishonor yourself forever if you do this._

"No," she said. "No, I wouldn't. I gave my word to Robert and I love my brother, he would never forgive me if I ran from my duty to my family."

* * *

_Second chapter done! If you enjoyed, don't forget to review, I love reading them! I had 220 views on the first chapter and only 4 reviews! _


	3. Queen of Love and Beauty

_Another chapter for you. I'm a bit overwhelmed at the response from you all. I'm so happy that you like it and you think my Lyanna is believable. I didn't want to make her into some childlike idiot or into some overly masculine character. I just wanted her to believe in her right to freedom and a choice. She doesn't dislike Robert, but she certainly doesn't love him or want to marry him. Anyway, enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think. xx_

* * *

"I can't believe you would do this!" Ned said, pacing before her. He looked more distressed than angry.

She sat on her bed hopelessly. On her arrival back in Harrenhal that evening with some assistance from the prince, Ned had caught her sneaking back to her chambers. He had dismissed the Septa and sat her down solemnly.

"Benjen is half in shock and half in awe of you and is under strict instructions to keep this to himself," Ned told her. "The King and Robert would have had you unmasked if they could. What do you think Robert would have thought?"

"I don't care what Robert thinks," she said petulantly. "I don't care. Perhaps he would have called an end to the engagement and left me in peace."

"Robert loves you!" Ned cried. "Your betrothal has been blessed by the High Septon in the capital."

"I don't _believe _in the Seven, and neither do you, so what does it matter what the High Septon has or hasn't blessed?" she insisted. "They're his silly gods, not mine."

"You are a Lady, more than that, you are a daughter of House Stark," he told her firmly. "You will do this. I will see it done. Father would have it done, and so it will be."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "_Feel_ something Ned!" she screamed at him. "All these proprieties and promises! All of your precious honour, and what is it good for? You would send your sister to an unhappy marriage and do the same yourself! Why shouldn't ladies love? Lords may father as many bastards as they please while subservient wives do as they're told. Do you think Robert would be any different? He would not keep to my bed, nor any one woman's."

"You talk of this as if you have known it," Ned said finally, and in that instant he looked very much older than he was. "Robert will keep you safe, well-fed and give you sons and daughters."

"It sounds as though you love him more than I," she snapped. "He must know it. He must see it in my eyes. No man can be so blind."

"Love blinds men."

"Not that much," said Lyanna quietly. "He _must_ know."

"I will not discuss it, Lyanna," said Ned finally. "I am beginning to think it was a bad decision to allow you to come to Harrenhal. You have done nothing but disobey our father since you arrived."

She threw one of the silk cushions from the bed at him. "Go!"

"Lya—"

"_Go!_" she screamed this time. "I do not want to see you."

He gazed at her sadly for a moment and then left as per her request. She cursed herself. She felt twice as lonely without him.

Her fury was indescribable. She felt like throttling Ned herself. She took a cut-glass decanter and threw it against the wall with all the strength and rage she could muster, where it shattered into a thousand pieces.

Falling to her knees, she gazed at her reflection in every shard.

_What is happening to me?_ _Ned is my best friend, my best brother. _

As she gazed at the girl – no, woman – in the glass, she cried tears of frustration, not tears of self-pity. There was still hope, there was _always _hope. Hope that the men around her would come to their senses, and call off the engagement. There was hope that her father would realise she belonged at Winterfell, to marry some Northman that she could _love_, to hold a sword instead of a needle, to spar with her brothers, not converse with ladies about nothing in particular.

It was a useless hope, but she carried it nonetheless. She loved her father dearly but she needed her mother. He had done his best to raise a daughter, done things that no other father she knew had done – helped her through her first blood, shown her how to dance and taught her the things that her mother had done as Lady of Winterfell, until Lyanna herself could do them in her stead and make him proud.

She steeled herself and got to her feet. _I am a Stark_, she thought, _I do not pity myself. Gods help me._

"Septa Alenei!" she called.

* * *

"Lady Lyanna," she was greeted by Robert, his mouth agape.

He took her hand and led her into the Hall. It had been cleared and cleaned and was now decorated as fine as any room of Casterly Rock. Great vases full of exotic flowers adorned every available space, a fine ensemble of musicians – harpists among them, though none so fine as Rhaegar – serenaded them and ladies wore finer dresses than Lyanna had ever seen before. Still Robert had eyes only for her.

She had chosen a gown with a neckline so deep it verged on scandalous. She had worn nothing of its kind before. The torso of the dress was gold plate, almost like armour, with silk skirts as blue as the summer sea. She had asked the Septa to gather her thick, dark hair upon her head and secure it there, in a style that was popular in neither Winterfell nor the capital, but something she imagined a powerful woman in Essos might wear.

The result had been that every eye in the room had found itself on her as she entered. She had paid the usual courtesies and thanked Robert for his compliments as was expected.

"I would claim the first dance from you," Robert told her and she had acquiesced, allowing him to pull her out amongst the couples that danced to the orchestra of strings.

She moved with him. It was easy to smile at his flattery and his tales of the Eyrie. She thought of other things. Her thoughts were far away. She was in Pentos, with its exotic and beautiful women and their pretty gowns, or a Khalasar in the great grass sea, with a beautiful, powerful Khaleesi beside her Khal.

"My Lady?"

Her thoughts interrupted, her eyes met Robert's. "Yes?"

But the song had come to an end and Ned was there to claim her hand.

"I'm sorry, Lyanna," he told her solemnly, and he looked it. "I hate quarreling with you."

She managed a smile at him. "As I do," she said quietly.

"You look especially lovely this evening, sister," he continued. "I—"

"It's fine, Ned," she interrupted him, and they lapsed into silence.

She laid her head on his chest tiredly as they danced. _I feel as old as Old Nan_, she thought_, I am not tired, my bones are._

"Excuse me, my Lord, may I cut in?"

They both looked up to see the prince before them, a smile on his handsome face. Ned couldn't help but return his smile and freely gave her up.

Rhaegar took her. "Hello, knight," he laughed.

She grinned. "That's _ser_ to you," she giggled. "_Ser Lyanna Stark_, Knight of the Laughing Tree."

He chuckled. "Knighthood suits you," he mocked. "I can see you as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard one day."

She laughed despite herself. "Your Lord Commander?"

He nodded once. "Did you make it back without being discovered?" he asked her. "I spent the afternoon wondering if you were being subjected to your father's fury."

"Ned's," she said quietly. "Ben also knows."

"They should be proud that a lady, a sister of theirs could defeat three _knights_ in a joust," said Rhaegar. "They say Selwyn of Tarth is treating his daughter as his son since he died. Mark my words, she will become a gifted warrior, respected in the Seven Kingdoms."

Lyanna smiled sadly. "No," she said. "She would be ridiculed. Men do not like what they do not understand, and a woman with sword or a lance is one of those."

Rhaegar fell silent as he studied her. His gaze made her feel uncomfortable, especially his deep lilac eyes, but she stared back nonetheless, grey on purple.

As the music drew to an end, Rhaegar leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I should not take more than one song from you, my Lady, or they will begin to talk. Here," he said, as he pushed something into her hand, "hide it and open it only when you are alone."

And with that he was gone, asking Lady Ashara Dayne for her hand in the next dance.

Lyanna glanced down at the folded parchment he had left her with. She tucked it into the golden bust of her gown.

Sadly, she returned to where her father stood with Ned and Robert.

"I'm feeling rather ill," she confessed.

"Are you all right, my Lady?" Robert asked immediately, concerned. He touched her arm gently as if to steady her.

"I should be fine," she said, "as long as I can lie down for a moment."

Her father nodded once, and so she took her leave.

The walk back to her chambers was a long one, through the great caverns and corridors of Harrenhal. Finally she reached it, and flung herself inside, bolting the great door behind her.

She fell back into the bed and drew the parchment from her breast and gazed at it in wonder for a few moments before tearing it open.

_Did I know beauty til I looked upon your face_

_Northern wolf, girl of snow and ice_

_There is no ice in your heart, only I wish_

_Wish that one day I might have it_

_And know its secrets_

After reading it through several times, she folded it back up and held it tightly, her breathing shallow and ragged. _He's written me a poem_, she thought. _The silver prince who has eyes only for me… my silver prince._

She grinned stupidly as she lay there with the poem pressed against her heart. _Only I wish, wish that one day I might have it, and know its secrets._ He wanted her heart just as she wanted his.

* * *

Over the next four days of jousting, Lyanna watched Rhaegar unseat every opponent he faced, including Brandon. It was as if the Gods were smiling on his victories as she was. Her heart raced each time he competed, sure that he would be knocked from his black stallion, but he unseated each and every knight before him.

Finally, on the fifth day, he faced Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and Lyanna was sure that he would lose.

She sat with Ned. Her father and Brandon and Benjen were absent that day. Having already been defeated, Brandon had retired to his own chambers. They sat together at the very front, Lyanna beside Lady Ashara herself, who looked nervous as her brother rode out.

Lyanna saw Rhaegar mount and take his lance before taking his place. She imagined his face beneath his helm and prayed for the Gods to allow him one more victory.

And so it was that the knights, the friends, nodded curtly to one another and broke into a fierce gallop. Lyanna couldn't bear to watch, she buried her face in the crook of Ned's arm as they rode.

She heard a great cheer and somebody call victoriously, "Prince Rhaegar!"

Looking up, she found Arthur Dayne sprawled in the dust, his lance a few feet away from him and his white stallion whickering nervously above him. Then she turned her gaze to the prince.

He had tossed his lance away and removed his helm, taking a low bow upon his horse and smiling widely at the crowd.

Ned applauded him, and Lyanna followed suit quickly. Several people stood, great smiles on their faces for the gracious champion.

And then Rhaegar was handed a laurel of what looked like blue winter roses, to crown his Queen of Love and Beauty.

All eyes fell on his wife as he urged the stallion towards her, clutching the crown in his hand. There was a gasp as he urged the horse past Elia and onwards, down the rows of young ladies.

_Don't be foolish, _she prayed.

But he brought his mount to a halt before her anyway. He grinned up at her and she was aware that Ned was staring incredulously at her on her left and Ashara on her right.

Rhaegar tossed the laurel into her lap nevertheless, with a low bow to her, and with that was gone.

Lyanna stared down at it, and picked it up gently. As she looked up, she noticed that every single smile had died and several men had stood up, outraged. Princess Elia had disappeared, along with her handmaidens. The roses were soft beneath her fingers. There was nothing else to be done, so she lifted the laurel and placed it upon her head decisively.

She caught Robert's eye and he looked ready to tear the roses or Rhaegar apart, she wasn't sure which. She managed an apologetic smile to him.

"I think it best we leave," Ned told her quietly, and he stood, offering his arm to her.

She took it.

* * *

_There you are, another chapter! Enjoy! And don't forget to review lovely people! x_


	4. And She Knew It To Be True

**Yay! Another chapter... Sorry for the delay, I had a little bit of writer's block and wasn't sure on what I wanted to do with this... hope you enjoy. Also, see message at bottom for important option! Remember to review, I love your reviews, they make my day.**

**'**

* * *

"Are you mad, Lyanna?" Rickard cried. "I don't know what kind of encouragements you have given the Prince, but you are betrothed to Robert! I demand you finish whatever is going on with Rhaegar Targaryen at once."

It was not often her Lord father raised his voice at her, not very often at all. Lyanna sat before him, like a little girl. She raised her face to him defiantly.

"I have given the Prince no encouragement," she assured him. "I do not know what madness drove him to crown me today. I've said little more than two words to him since we arrived and danced with him twice as I did every other knight."

Her father glowered at her. "Madness," he said. "Utter madness. To crown another man's betrothed as your queen of love and beauty."

Rickard turned to Ned. "Where is Robert now?" he demanded.

"Any there any whores in Harrenhal?" Lyanna snapped cynically. "I suspect you shall find him with them."

She stood and stalked away from her father and brothers to her vanity. There she removed her earrings carefully and pulled her hair away from her face to fasten it with a piece of thin leather.

"That is no way for a lady to speak," her father chided her. "Your betrothed is faithful to you, Lyanna. The engagement has been blessed by his gods."

She rolled her eyes. "Gods that neither you nor I believe in," she reminded him. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. Whatever I have _done_ to encourage Rhaegar Targaryen, I will ensure I do not do so again in future."

Silence followed her words. Her father made a partly satisfied noise and left, Brandon along with him, who had remained quiet throughout the whole exchange. Only Ned remained.

"Lya," he said quietly. He laid a hand on her shoulder and gazed at her with those serious eyes. There was so much honour in his face, so much duty. She did not know how he remained so steadfast all the time.

"I love him, Ned," she whispered, cupping his cheek in her hand as tears came to her eyes. "I love him as I have never loved anybody before. Will I have the only thing I love taken from me?"

Ned sighed and pulled her close. "I suspected it was so," he murmured. "I saw the way he looked at you this afternoon, and I believe I knew."

"He's just like me," she told him solemnly. "He is trapped, too, Ned. He married a woman he did not love just as I am to marry Robert. What he does he does for family, as I do. He is not happy, nor am I."

Ned shook his head.

"It's fine," she said bluntly. "You will marry Lady Ashara, somebody you could love, somebody you chose, while I marry Robert and Brandon marries Catelyn Tully."

"I…"

"Love comes after marriage, doesn't it?" she asked. "I will love him one day, won't I? Will I love him, Ned?"

Ned had no answer for her.

"I suppose it could be worse. Father could have married me off to Roose Bolton or one of the Greyjoy brothers," she said finally.

Ned could do nothing but nod.

* * *

At dinner that night, Lyanna did not look to where the royal family sat. Her gaze did not falter or waver from Robert Baratheon as he spoke of whatever it was that he talked about. Lyanna nodded when she had to and gave every notion to convince Robert that she was listening.

He had not spoken of her crowning, or of her prince. She suspected that Ned had calmed him. He was as gracious as ever that evening, and appeared to pay no mind to Rhaegar either, for which she was thankful.

Her crown had been burnt. Rickard had thrown it into the fire and Lyanna and knelt before it and watched the ghostly petals of the blue winter roses wilt and burn. When her father and brother had left her, she followed with the poem Rhaegar had written. She could not chance keeping it with handmaidens and servants in and out of her room every few hours.

She had cried while the parchment burned.

* * *

Lyanna dismissed her handmaiden and braided her hair herself that night. She sat before her mirror and reached into her little box of fine things. Inside there was a space where Rhaegar's poem had lain. There were Stark jewels, passed down for generations, a Valyrian dagger with a direwolf grip, trinkets from her childhood, a square of a torn Stark banner and underneath it all, a small painting of her mother.

She did not know the artist – she had never asked, but he had captured perfectly this woman who Lyanna imagined to be her mother. Dark-haired and beautiful, much more beautiful than Lyanna herself, she looked solemnly back at her daughter.

Lyanna carefully touched the ageing paint. What would her mother have done in her place? She kissed the woman and placed her back into the box, closing the lid tightly.

Glancing at herself, Lyanna sighed. How had Rhaegar even noticed her? She was nothing special. Nothing special at all. Not compared to Cersei Lannister or Catelyn Tully or Elia Martell. She was sixteen, barely a woman, dark and plain. Somebody had said once, comparing her to Cersei that "a torch seems beautiful until a man sees the rising sun". But it was _her_ that the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, and a _married _man wanted, not the Lannister lioness.

There was a gentle knock at her door.

"Come in," Lyanna called, getting to her feet.

As she turned she came face to face with Rhaegar. Her breath left her and she stood stock-still before him, her heart beating nervously against her ribs.

"Lyanna," he murmured. It was all he said, it was all he needed to say.

She touched his cheek with her fingers gently.

"I'm so sorry, Lyanna," he told her. "I don't know what I was thinking. I wanted you to have the crown. They were Northern roses, and you are my queen…. I just…"

"Hush now," she whispered. "It is done, it is over."

"But it's not over," he insisted. "It doesn't change anything. Your brothers would murder me if they found you within twenty feet of your room, let alone in it, but I found myself here without really knowing what I was doing."

She did not know what to say.

"I can't stay away," he told her. "I feel like there's one half of me with you always and another with my children. Robert Baratheon would have you as his wife, as Lady of Storm's End and I can offer you nothing."

"There is no competition," Lyanna told him. "There has never been any competition. I do not love Robert."

"I do not love Elia," he whispered. "Not as my wife."

She felt dizzy, and took his arm to keep from falling. There were nearly tears in her eyes.

"Why couldn't we have met years ago?" she demanded, anger rising in her voice to keep the tears away. "Why could you not have come to Winterfell and asked for my hand instead of Robert? I would be your wife and be with you always. I would never leave your side. I could kiss you when I wanted, touch you when I wanted," her voice broke, "we would belong to each other."

"Oh, Lyanna," he said, his voice dropping. He looked pained as he gazed down at her.

"I have never been kissed before," she confessed. "I always imagined it would be Robert, drunk and on our wedding night, perhaps, if he hadn't found the chance to steal one before."

And before she could speak again, his lips were upon hers, sweet and soft. He was not gentle and he was not chaste. She might have blushed at the way he pressed himself against her if she were not utterly consumed by the feel of his hot mouth on hers.

"Do not let Robert take my maidenhead," she begged him in a whisper.

He pulled away then, and gazed down at her, fire and hunger in his eyes. She watched as he strode to the door and slid the great bolt across and with it, destroyed any chance of her returning to the girl she was.

Each step he took towards her seemed an age. She was hot all over despite the coolness of the night through the open window. He came towards her and she took an involuntary step back as her stomach flipped.

And then Rhaegar had taken the hem of her nightgown and pulled the thin material off over her head.

And there it was. She stood before him naked as a babe, a pale, ghostly Northerner. Her hands covered her small breasts and she crossed her legs to keep her modesty.

She watched Rhaegar undress, her heart rising in her throat in nervousness. He removed his boots and breeches and finally the loose linen tunic he wore and desire made her uncross her legs. She could see every angle and every plane of his body – the gentle curve of his shoulders, the ripple of muscles across his broad chest and the dark trail of hair that led from his navel downwards.

He picked her up, as easily as if she were a doll, and laid her on the bed. Instinctively, she reached out to touch him and recoiled. Panic rose in her.

"It can't, it won't… It's not…"

"Lyanna, we are two pieces who have been separated by time and distance," he told her, and she allowed herself to be swallowed his gaze, "the Gods, old or new, made us to fit together like a key in a lock. I promise I won't hurt you."

Promises or no, it did hurt. It was a sharp pain that hit her first, followed by a dull ache within, but there was more than that. There was a need, no matter how painful, to be closer to him. She clutched at him as one might try to hold water in bare hands, fingernails on his skin as he pressed her to the bed. He was _in_ her, and pleasure crashed across her body as water upon sand.

Afterwards, he pulled her close, into the warmth of his torso and they lay naked together. She did not feel a girl any more, but a woman. She ached between her legs, a soreness that she had been rewarded for. She touched his chest and he shivered, and she wondered at the power she had over him.

She pulled herself up until she lay upon him, their bodies pressed against each other, her chin on his chest. She stroked his face with her fingers, a desire within her to own each part of this man.

"I love you, Lyanna Stark," he whispered, and she knew it to be true.

"As I love you," she told him breathlessly.

* * *

**Okay that was a big event! I hope I did it justice... **

**Also, what I wanted was your opinion on what is to happen, as I had one reviewer ask if there could be a happily ever after for Rhaegar and Lyanna. I don't want to do that, but I did want to give you guys the option for the ending.**

**I can either a) follow the original storyline and have Rhaegar killed on the trident and Lyanna die in childbed (I am a firm believer of R+L=J theory) and that be the end of it or b) have Lyanna survive childbirth (Rhaegar will still die), and she has either just Jon or twins (haven't decided), but Robert still wants to marry her when she is recovered, so she travels to King's Landing, and basically see what happens with the dynamics of Lyanna as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms with her trueborn (as she was married to Rhaegar) son (or twins) and Robert. **

**Ummmm big decision, so let me know. With your review include either an A or a B for whichever ending/storyline you would like. **

**Thanks again xxxx**


End file.
